


Stretched

by KoreArabin



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Bondage, Gags, Humiliation, M/M, Non Consensual, Oral Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sheriff produces another of the silver implements, this one longer and far thicker than the one currently stretching Gisborne's mouth.</p><p>Vaisey strokes the implement lovingly. "This one stretches another orifice, Gisborne. This one goes in your <i>arse</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Vaisey's glee at his latest notion of cruelty is quite revolting to behold. 

"An event? Why not? I’ll invite all the leaders of the local community - attendance compulsory. We should be very creative in our use of punishments. The scourge? I love a good lashing. Mutilation, of course. _Torture_. But right here, right here in the Great Hall. Ah! A _Festival of Pain_. Oh, yes."

Gisborne swallows. For all his talk of making an example of the local peasantry who defy them, a torture-fest in the castle was not exactly what he had been thinking of. As usual, he had let his anger and resentment at the smug, insufferable, Locksley colour his attitude to his duties, and now, anticipating Marian's reaction to the Sheriff's latest idea of entertainment, he wishes he had kept quiet.

"I'll have the castle carpenters and the dungeon master put to work immediately. Hmmmm. How many different torments can we fit into the Great Hall? And refreshments - well, for _us_ , at least. The 'community leaders' can get stuffed. Oh, it is so exciting, Gisborne! It makes me feel - quite.... Get up to my quarters, immediately, Gisborne. I'll be there in just a minute."

oOo

Gisborne surveys himself in the tiny looking glass in the guest bedroom. He is not a vain man in any way, but his jaw aches, and he wants to ensure that he bears no obvious marks from the Sheriff's recent use of his mouth. The Sheriff's arousal at his planned orgy of sadism and torture had to be sated, and who else but Gisborne, choking and retching on his knees as he struggled to cope with Vaisey's cock pounding into his throat, would he expect to fulfil that duty?

Thankfully, his face and neck appear to be free of bruises, although his throat is sore and even _thinking_ on what he has swallowed makes him want to vomit. But he will be patient, and accept, and bide his time, for the time being, at least.

If only he could confide in someone. Marian? If only he could tell her how much he detests what he has to be, in order to keep his place at the Sheriff's side. Would she understand? Would she help him? He doubts it. Those born to position and land and money, like her and Locksley, have the privilege of being able to be idealists. They will never know what it is to have to work to hold on to patronage, to have to put one's personal feelings aside and _serve_ to avoid being thrown back into the destitution of the gutter.

Gloomily, he stomps back down the stone turret stairs and along to the Great Hall. Already a great deal of work and noise is ongoing. Carpenters saw and measure and carve, whilst the dungeon master shouts at the Sheriff's soldiers as they carry in buckets of coals, coils of rope and lengths of chain.

"Ah, Gisborne - there you are. Everything well with you? Throat not too sore?" Vaisey smirks, gloating in his position of power. How delightful it is to have the big, strong, Gisborne scowling at him, both of them knowing all too well that if he simply snapped his fingers, he could have the proud, brooding, knight stark naked in his bed, legs spread to do his bidding.

_Oh, yes, Vaisey, it's good to be me._

For now, though, he'll content himself with what he has planned for later this evening. "Yes, Gisborne. I shall require you here, after supper, to help me inspect these contraptions."

oOo

Vaisey lounges on his velvet-cushioned chair, a throne in all but name. "Ah, Gisborne. So good of you to join me. Let's have a look at what our cunning old dungeon master has had knocked up for us, eh?"

The Sheriff starts with a circular iron band, set at regular intervals with inward-pointing, rather ferocious-looking spikes. "The head goes here - see - and then the band at the base is adjusted, and - eventually - splat!"

"Most effective, my Lord, although rather crude, surely?"

"Hmmmm. You may have a point, Gisborne. But - what about this?" 

Whipping away the plain sheet covering the next piece of apparatus, Vaisey chuckles. "The Scavenger's Daughter. Head goes - here, wrists - here, and ankles - here. Squashes the occupant up rather tightly, I am told, so stand well back if you don't want to get sprayed with blood from their nose or ears."

Gisborne swallows, feeling nauseous. He is of course a knight, a _warrior_ , used to the heat and blood and stink of the battlefield, but - to use such devices on peasants? They are men and women born to toil in the fields, beasts of burden, maybe, but not senseless brutes to be tortured for the Sheriff's pleasure.

"You're looking rather pale, Gisborne. Not getting all lily-livered and squeamish on me, surely? Well, let's leave our whistle-stop tour of the torture machines and retire to my chambers. I have something I wish to show you."

oOo

Unlike earlier, Vaisey does not immediately tell him to kneel, or tie his hands behind his back. Instead, he offers Gisborne a seat and a goblet of wine and begins to chat, in general terms, about the castle and news of the King's latest deeds in the Holy Land, and Prince John's doings in London. All in all, it is as close to a normal conversation about everyday news and gossip as they could possibly have and Gisborne, against his better judgment, is lured into a sense of ease and enjoyment. 

And so, when Vaisey abruptly tells him to strip, Gisborne is at first somewhat slow on the uptake. 

"Did you not hear me, Gisborne? I told you to strip. Do not make me tell you a further time, or by Christ you will suffer for it."

"My Lord? You took me unawares."

"Well, that's hardly unusual, is it, Gisborne? Hood does nothing else but take you unawares, does he? I would have thought that you'd be instantly alert to being "taken unawares" by now."

Gisborne stands, slowly unbuckling his leather jerkin, and then unwinding his neck scarf, before shrugging his undershirt up over his shoulders.

"And your breeches." Vaisey gestures vaguely at Gisborne's leg coverings, as he unlaces them, and drags them off, the leather squeaking as he does so.

"On your knees, Gisborne, hands behind your back."

Reluctantly, he obeys, wincing as Vaisey binds his wrists tightly together with thin leather straps. His cock lies flaccid against his thigh; there is nothing to arouse him here - even his instinctive response to being dominated appears to have deserted him this evening.

"I have a couple of more _personal_ items which I wish to test, Gisborne, and you seem to be the ideal candidate."

Vaisey reaches behind his chair to produce a long, silver implement, one which Gisborne cannot immediately make sense of. It is thin at one end, which looks almost like some sort of key or clockwork device, but gradually swells outwards at the other end, to something that looks like a spring bulb.

"This end, Gisborne, goes in your mouth. Open up - chop, chop!"

Vaisey presses the bulbous end of the implement into Gisborne's mouth, smirking. 

"And this is how it works!"

Abruptly, he turns the other end, the one which looked like a key, and Gisborne's eyes go wide in surprise and fear.

"Yes. It is called a "pear", and it opens up, with a twist of the key at this end, Gisborne, as you are now discovering."

Vaisey turns the key again, and Gisborne cries out in pain and panic. The thing has opened up even wider within his mouth, pressing his tongue flat against his lower jaw, and spreading his lips wide enough to split and bleed at the corners. Metal presses against the soft flesh of the roof of his mouth, and he cannot even try to speak, with his lips spread out so painfully wide.

Vaisey, however, chuckles in delight, gripping the key tightly and forcing Gisborne's head back, provoking another muffled sound of pain from the man on his knees before him.

"Such a wonderful device for controlling the peasant insurgents, eh, Gisborne? If you weren't moaning on your knees before me, no doubt you'd be relishing the opportunity to use one of these on Locksley, hmmmm? Oh, but I digress; there's another, even more delicious variant of this "pear"."

At this, the Sheriff produces another of the silver implements, this one longer and far thicker than the one currently stretching Gisborne's mouth.

Vaisey strokes the implement lovingly. "This one stretches another orifice, Gisborne. This one goes in your _arse_."


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on, Gisborne, up with you!"

Vaisey pulls hard on the end of the pear, and Gisborne staggers to his feet. "Go to the table, and lie over it."

Gisborne does as he is told, bending forward over the stout wooden table, his head tilted back and upwards awkwardly, with the pear protruding from his mouth. He feels Vaisey's hands at his ankles, puling them apart and tying them tightly, one to each of the two end legs of the table. This is repeated with ropes around his thighs, and then around his wrists at the other end of the table, so that he is held fast, his arms stretched out before him and his legs secured to the table's legs.

Vaisey stands before him, surveying his handiwork. "I do so very much enjoy having my _stallion_ humbled. You suffer so very prettily, Gisborne. In fact, I have been thinking of inviting the dear lady Marian along to one of our little sessions; for all her bleeding heart sympathies for the underdogs of this county, I rather think she'd enjoy watching _you_ suffer, Gisborne. What do you think?"

Gisborne tries to respond, but the pear reduces his ability to speak to incomprehensible grunts. Vaisey sneers, then slaps him, hard, across the face. 

"Stop mumbling, Gisborne, or I'll open that thing up another notch or two."

He walks around the table, letting his fingertips run idly over Gisborne's body, until he is standing behind him, between his spread thighs. Gisborne tries to turn his head to see what the Sheriff is doing, but he is tied down too securely. Vaisey runs his hands up the inside of Gisborne's thighs, squeezing and pinching painfully at the sensitive flesh, before taking a buttock in each palm and kneading them viciously.

"What a delightfully smooth, fleshy arse you have Gisborne. Almost a women's arse. I wonder how many men have looked wistfully at it and wanted to take you? A fair few, I bet. But it belongs to me. _You_ , Gisborne, belong to me."

With that, Vaisey brings his hand down hard on Gisborne's backside, startling him, before beginning to spank him, forcefully and efficiently - left buttock, right buttock, left thigh, right thigh, then back to the start again. Gisborne grunts and wriggles; the spanking isn't particularly painful, but it is humiliating, and each blow jars at the infernal implement stretching his jaw.

"Mmmmmm. Now that's a very pretty shade of pink. What next, I wonder? I'm really getting into the mood for tomorrow's festivities."

The Sheriff rummages through an old trunk beneath the table, muttering to himself, exclaiming loudly every so often. Eventually he rises and circles back around the table, to stand before Gisborne once again.

"Let's remove this, hmmm? I think we can agree that it's rather effective, even only opened up a little bit? And, of course, I don't want your little sounds of appreciation stifled as the evening progresses." 

Gisborne groans as the pear is removed, testing his jaw gingerly and licking at the blood crusting at the edges of his mouth. 

"Lift your head." Vaisey loops a length of chain around his neck, pulling it tight, and laying the end of the chain on his back.

"There are so many things I'd like to do to you, Gisborne, but I want you in reasonably decent shape still for tomorrow's fun, so let's just play with the other pear, hmmmm?"

"My lord, please don't! The big outlaw - John is his name, I think - he would be able to take a lot of suffering. Will it not be more entertaining to watch it being used on one such as him?"

Vaisey contemplates, then smirks. "Good try, Gisborne. But - no. I'll be entertaining - for me, at least - to see it being used on _both_ of you, so do try to relax, Gisborne, there's a good boy."

Gisborne grits his teeth in anger and humiliation at his helplessness, struggling against the rough ropes holding him securely tied to the table, unable to do much more than wriggle and hiss as Vaisey begins to dribble oil down between his buttocks. 

The Sheriff is far too exaggeratedly fastidious to allow himself to _touch_ Gisborne's opening, so instead lines up the cold, rounded, bulbous end of the pear against it and begins to push, using the tip to open Gisborne up.

"Arggghhh - it's too hard - please, my lord, more slowly - please!"

"You old romantic you, Gisborne. Very well then, I'll pitch you a little woo and make sweet lurrvve to you with it, shall I?" 

Vaisey does slightly reduce the pressure, and instead circles the tip of the pear inside Gisborne's arse, giving him at least the semblance of a chance to relax enough to accommodate the long, thick implement. 

Gisborne, however, has no illusions that this penetration is going to be anything other than extremely unpleasant and painful for him; the girth of the thing, combined with the cold, unyielding metal from which it is formed, pretty much guarantees that having it seated deep in his rectum is not an experience he will in any way enjoy. He can only hope that the Sheriff does not inflict any permanent damage on him.

The pressure at his backside steadily increases until he is trembling with tension, biting at the inside of his forearm to keep himself from crying out and begging. Dear God, how much more of this thing has got to go inside him? Then, abruptly, he feels something _give_ and the thing is suddenly swallowed up into his body. 

In his initial relief at the release of the stretching of his sphincter he does not at first feel the tear slowly dripping blood between his legs, or the pressure of the thick metal sitting solid and heavy inside him. However, slowly the euphoria gives way to a constant, dragging feeling of fullness and pain, and moan and shift position as much as he can, he cannot relieve it.

"My lord! It is too much. Please, remove it. Pleease, my lord!"

Vaisey's next words have Gisborne shutting his eyes tight and biting afresh at his arm in an attempt to ward off the tears which are threatening to flow. 

"Don't be such a girl, Gisborne. I've only just pushed it up you, and I haven't even turned the key yet."


	3. Chapter 3

Vaisey hasn't moved for some time. He must still be standing behind him, no doubt relishing witnessing the suffering of his master at arms.

"My Lord?" Gisborne stutters, twisting against his bindings in an attempt to find a way of accommodating the overwhelming pressure in his gut.

Vaisey's voice is ice; ice dragging discordantly across rock; rock carved away and worn smooth as the ice flows on, inexorably, leaving in its wake a landscape transformed. 

Gisborne wonders if he is hallucinating. 

_What was that about glaciers?_

"I _said_ , Gisborne, I haven't even turned the key yet."

_Key? What is the key? Why does the Sheriff have a key? St Peter's key - the key to the Kingdom? The key to Marian's bedchamber? Marian._

"Don't play the fool, Gisborne. God knows it suits you when you're dealing with Hood, but _I_ do not care for it."

_Fool? Fool's errand. Errant knight. Knight-errant. Courtly love. Love. Love songs. The Song of Solomon. Behold, you are fair, my love. My lady fair, I am yours to command. My love. Marian._

When Vaisey turns the key, Gisborne is too thoroughly engrossed in his own hazy musings for it to register at first. But then, the cramping, twisting, unbearable sensation of being so brutally stretched, and being so utterly helpless to prevent it, breaks through his temporary dissociation, and Gisborne cries out, unable to process the violent assault on his body.

Vaisey crouches behind him, fascinated. Gisborne is quivering, his legs rigid against the table, muscles taut and straining, his buttocks and back muscles flexing, the pear moving slightly as the man within whom it is buried so deeply struggles to accommodate its intrusion.

Vaisey moves round to Gisborne's head, pulling it up by the hair and staring into his face.

"Is it so very terrible then, Gisborne? I am dumbstruck and yet incredibly _entertained_ at the same time. I really did not anticipate such an - extreme - reaction to this little toy, not when I've hardly even started opening it up, but you really _are_ an education, Gisborne. 

Now, shall I leave you like this to savour your torment, or shall I let you beg to be allowed to pleasure me, in exchange for me removing our little metal friend from your arse? Tell me, Gisborne - which shall it be?"

Vaisey smirks to himself; he knows Gisborne will not endure the pear any longer than he has to. The brooding, proud knight will beg. There's no doubt at all in his mind.

Gisborne appears to be finding it difficult to even speak.

"My Lor-! M'Lo-!"

"Yes, Gisborne? Come on, spit it out, you imbecile."

"M'Lor-, lemme, lemme - plesh - _pleasure_ you - please, M'Lor-"

Vaisey laughs - a sharp, ugly, bark of sadistic pleasure that leaves Gisborne trying not to shiver as his blood runs cold. He knows this man, the Sheriff; he knows that he delights in the suffering of others, that there is no empathy or compassion in him, only the overriding urge to dominate, to accrue, and to own.

Gisborne wonders, vaguely, _hazily_ , why he is surprised at the Sheriff's treatment of him. Vaisey clearly thinks him weak, pathetic, _girly_ , because of his reaction to this torture. He is, after all, well-accustomed to the occasional brutality of the tiltyard, and a veteran of many battles, and has been injured on more occasions than he can remember. But this, _this_ torture, is something he cannot withstand. It is too intimate, too _wrong_ , and he will do anything to escape it.

Taking a deep breath, he steels himself to speak clearly. "Please, my Lord, allow me to pleasure you. Allow me to pleasure you with my mouth, please, my Lord."

With another chuckle, Vaisey jumps up on to the table and unties his lacings, freeing his cock, obscenely red and swollen, a glistening drop of pre-ejaculate beading at the tip. Gisborne stares at it, fighting back nausea. Even though Vaisey has already forced this act upon him once today, this second time is no less repugnant and no less humiliating.

But the angle is awkward; Vaisey has to straddle Gisborne's bound arms, and pull his head up by the hair to get him into position. Gisborne groans at the pressure on his scalp and roots, and the unnatural, painful stretch of his neck.

"Open wide, Gizzy, there's a good boy. I want this dirty and sloppy, lots of tongue and spit, and you really working to please me. If I think at any point that you're not giving me your filthiest, absolute _bestest_ effort, I'll open you up another notch and leave you here to scream yourself to sleep. Got that?"

Gisborne mumbles. "Yes, my Lord."

He parts his lips and Vaisey lines himself up, pressing smoothly into Gisborne's throat, stopping only when his prick can't sink in any further. Gisborne gags and chokes against the intrusion, his nose and eyes beginning to stream as he feels bile rising, burning and bitter, in his gullet.

"Oh, _shut up_ , Gisborne! I don't want you moaning and sniffling over me like the pathetic girl you've shown yourself to be, tonight. I simply want you servicing me, silently and efficiently. So get on with it."

Gisborne does his best, trying to balance the filthy licking and slurping Vaisey wants with the need to be as silent as possible whilst doing it. For a while, the only sounds in Vaisey's chamber are the wet, sloppy, sounds of Gisborne's mouth moving on his cock, Vaisey's occasional grunt of pleasure, and Gisborne's stifled heaving and gagging.

Looking down at Gisborne's face, Vaisey can feel his balls tightening. The man's wrecked, his normally haughty face wet with sweat, saliva, tears and snot, his nose running, and his chin slick with drool.

"Fuck, Gisborne, you are nothing but a slut, a gaping fuckhole for your superiors, aren't you? Come on, _proud Sir Knight_ , suck me off; I'm going to feed you something nice and tasty. C'mon - suck!"

Vaisey goes still, before jerking hard into Gisborne's mouth, spilling into his throat, setting Gisborne heaving over again, struggling to breathe with his throat full of cock and his nose blocked with snot. Vaisey groans and pants as his orgasm slowly diminishes, the hand wrapped tightly in Gisborne's hair pulling strands out at the roots as Gisborne struggles and cries out in pain.

When Vaisey at last pulls out of his throat, Gisborne lies still, eyes closed, a thin trickle of saliva, mixed with acid bile and semen, leaking from the edge of his mouth.

Vaisey stands, throwing his head back and cricking his neck. "Ah, now that's done me the world of good. I feel completely - refreshed - and yet, wonderfully relaxed."

Looking at Gisborne, who is only just able to keep himself from sobbing in front of his tormentor, he snorts.

"Time to free our dainty, feeble _girly_ , I suppose. There - wind key back and - "

Gisborne's howl of pain as the pear is roughly pulled from his body surely must have awoken most of the castle? Now he can hold back the tears no longer, and Gisborne lies gasping over the table, wracked with sobs before, with a huge effort of will, he manages to pull himself upright. 

He cannot face dressing himself; he cannot imagine ever wanting to have any article of clothing snug against his arse ever again, so he simply grabs his clothing before winding a length of bed linen around himself. It will be enough to maintain his modesty until he can get to the sanctuary of his own quarters.

Vaisey ignores him, nonchalantly inspecting his fingernails as Gisborne limps to the door, remembering as he reaches it that Vaisey locked it earlier.

"My Lord, please, let me go. I shall rest. I shall be more myself again, on the morrow."

Vaisey simply throws him a withering glance of contempt.

"Yes, go on with you - creep back to your mean quarters, and think on what a pathetic excuse for a knight you have proved yourself to be, Gisborne. And ensure that you keep out of my way tomorrow."

As the Sheriff's chamber door is slammed shut behind him, Gisborne limps slowly along the dark, quiet passages of the castle to his room, praying that he will not encounter anyone before he can reach it. But the fates are never kind to Gisborne.

"Guy? What are you - are you alright? Why aren't you dressed? Have you been hurt?"

Marian. Of course, it _would_ be Marian.

"And what are you doing, Marian, wandering the castle at night? Surely you should be safe in your chamber, lest outlaws or other ne'er-do-wells be abroad, ready to do you mischief?"

"What? I heard a sound, and here you are. Let me help you."

He wants to smile. He wants to cry. He wants to laugh at the sheer bloody-mindedness of fate. Marian would help him; she'd clean his wounds and nurse him, she'd hold him to her warm body and -

No, it cannot be. He cannot speak of what has passed between himself and the Sheriff this evening, he cannot ever speak of it to anyone.

And, so; he must be resolute. "I am perfectly well, Marian - a training bout in the armoury led to a little blood being spilled. Nothing we men cannot handle, but not for a woman's gentle eyes. Leave me be."

When Marian again tries to help, he can only snarl. "Leave me be!"

Marian shoots him a look of genuine puzzlement, but there is an underlying skein of dislike, clear as day.

"Very well, Guy. I only thought to help you, but suit yourself. Good night."

It is only when he is locked in the sanctuary of his own chambers, curled hidden under the coverlets on the bed, that he allows himself to weep.

**Author's Note:**

> There are quite a few anachronisms in this one. Feel free to point them out!


End file.
